The Whim
by allthingsdecent
Summary: What if House proposed to Cuddy and she said no?


"The toilet in the master bedroom is backed up," Cuddy said.

House looked up from the graphic novel he was reading. She was dressed in her bedtime uniform of a tank top and a pair of his boxer shorts—and she was ominously wielding a plunger.

"Bummer," he said.

"That's it? _Bummer_?"

"That's why we have three bathrooms. As backup bathrooms," House said, looking back down at his book.

"But I don't want to use the other bathrooms. I want to use the one in _our _bedroom."

"Technically, it's your bedroom."

"You've been sleeping in it for almost a year."

"Yes, but I still have my own apartment. Therefore, it's your bedroom."

Cuddy sighed.

"You're really not going to help me with this?"

"You're a big girl. Biceps of steel. Buns of brick. Boobs of . . . bliss. Do it yourself."

"I tried. I got tired."

"Call a plumber."

Cuddy slumped her shoulders.

"Why can't you be like the other boyfriends and do some manly things around the house?" she whined.

"I do plenty of manly things around this house," he said, with a dirty grin.

But he finally took the plunger from her.

"I assume I plunge the toilet now and I get to plunge you later?"

"Why must everything be a bargain about sex with you?" she said.

"Our entire relationship has been one big bargain about sex," he said.

"You're a jerk."

"The jerk who's about to _manfully _plunge your toilet."

"_Our_ toilet."

House popped up, limped into the bathroom.

He peered at the bowl.

"Yeah, that's backed up alright. And disgusting. We really need to stop inviting Wilson over."

He started to plunge.

"The sad thing is, this isn't the grossest thing I've done all day," he said. (House's current patient had a serious bowel disorder.)

After plunging for a few minutes, he stopped.

"I seriously need to work out more," he said, rubbing his shoulder a bit.

Cuddy massaged his shoulders and pat down his back, like she was a trainer and he was a boxer about to re-enter the ring.

"I'm going in," he said, turning back to the toilet.

"I'll pray for you!" she said, giggling.

Finally, the toilet was unclogged. House flushed it triumphantly.

"Damn, that was manly," he said, slightly out of breath. "I'd do me."

Cuddy raised an eyebrow.

"Put down the lid," she said suggestively.

He looked at her. Tried not to get too excited. Closed the lid.

"Sit," she ordered.

Obediently, he sat. She straddled him. Kissed him on the mouth. Then she went to unbutton his pants.

"I thought we weren't bargaining chores for sex," he said, wriggling out of his pants.

"I'm trying to give you positive reinforcement," she said, reaching between his legs. "Like one of Pavlov's dogs."

"It's working," he said happily—then moaned as she began to ride him.

#####

After they had sex, she stayed on his lap, as he kissed her on the mouth and breathed in her hair.

"You're an amazing woman, you know that?" he said softly. He was always extra sweet right after sex.

"Imagine if you had done some electrical work," she cracked. "Or painted a room."

He rubbed her back and kissed her again.

"I'm serious," he said.

"I know you are, sweetie," she said, indulgently. "You're amazing, too."

"Marry me," he said.

"Ha," she said.

"I mean it," he said, looking in her eyes.

"What? Just because we had gross plunger sex?"

"No," he said. "Because I'm the luckiest guy in the world."

"Don't confuse being lucky with _getting_ lucky."

"It's both."

"Let's get ready for bed, tiger," she said. "If you still want to marry me tomorrow morning, we can talk."

They got ready for bed, climbed in. She turned out the lights.

"In case you were wondering, I still want to marry you," House said in the dark.

In the morning, he turned to her.

"Have you thought about my proposal?" he said.

She looked at him, surprised. She was sure he would've long forgotten about that.

"That wasn't a proposal," she said. "It was a whim."

"I asked you to marry me," he said. "That's the very definition of a proposal."

"Then where's my ring?"

"I don't have one. It wasn't planned. It was spontaneous."

"Exactly. A whim."

"Okay, a _whim_posal. . .But that doesn't make it any less. . ."

He stopped because two tiny footy-clad feet had made their way into the bedroom.

"I'm hungry!" Rachel announced.

"Then let's go make you breakfast, tiny!" Cuddy said, getting up hastily. "Cinnamon toast sound good?"

"Yay!"

Cuddy shrugged at House apologetically and followed Rachel into the kitchen.

House watched them out of the corner of his eye.

"Shit," he said out loud.

####

"Okay, what's wrong?" Wilson said, sitting across from House's desk.

"What makes you think anything's wrong?" House said.

"I'm wearing an argyle sweater vest."

"You're wearing an argyle sweater vest and that is somehow proof that something is wrong with _me_?"

"You haven't said a word about it."

"That's because it's hideous."

"I'm wearing an argyle sweater vest and yet you didn't make one crack about it all day."

"I just said it was hideous. What did you want me to do? Vomit on it?"

"You only said it was hideous after you were prompted," Wilson said.

House squinted at him.

"Did you just wear that vest to get me to insult you? Because, there are better ways to get a boy's attention."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"I wore the vest because I liked it enough to endure your mocking. And then, no mocking came. I can only conclude it's because you're . . .distracted. So again I ask: What's wrong?"

"Nothing," House said, swallowing hard and looking down at his desk.

"Oh, that was very convincing," Wilson said.

House sighed.

"Okay, I may have asked Cuddy to marry me after we had toilet bowl sex," House confessed.

"Wait. What? _What?_" Wilson said.

"Thank you, Walt Whitman."

"You proposed? After having sex on _a toilet bowl_?"

"It sounds nasty when you put it like that. It was actually quite romantic."

"And yet I take it from your mood, she didn't say yes."

"She didn't say no exactly either. She just kind of dodged it."

"Dodged it how?"

"Thought I was joking. Then she used the rug rat as an excuse to not talk about it."

"Did she keep the ring?"

"What ring?"

"I thought you just said you proposed."

"I did. But there wasn't a ring. It was spontaneous."

"Right—right after you had sex on a toilet bowl."

"I had a moment of clarity."

"This ought to be good."

"You don't put a gorgeous, smart, exciting woman who has toilet bowl sex with you on layaway. You pay in full, in cash, on the spot."

"You just compared Cuddy to a flatscreen TV."

"No I didn't. But if I did, she'd be strictly high-def. State of the art."

"I see. . ."

"When you know, you know, Wilson. But apparently, Cuddy isn't quite as sure as I am."

"You're an idiot."

House was expecting sympathy. He started a bit.

"I'm an idiot?"

"Women dream about the moment their man asks for their hand in marriage. And you proposed . . . with no ring? In a bathroom? What did you do, get down on bended knee on the bathmat? Hand her a loofah instead of a ring?"

"What's a loofah?"

"I literally can't think of a less romantic setting."

"You're saying she said no because my proposal wasn't romantic enough?"

"House, I'm just saying that a woman wants to see that you've put some thought in the proposal, given it some preparation, some creativity. You had one shot to propose to the love of your life and you blew it."

House thought about that for a second, then nodded, popped up from his desk.

"Thanks Wilson," he said. "I can work with that."

#####

Cuddy was sitting in her office when she got an email from House with a photo attachment.

It was a picture of a patient—House's patient—holding a handwritten sign: "Marry House or He'll Order Lots of Expensive and Unnecessary Tests on Me."

She laughed.

Two minutes later, her phone dinged again.

This time a picture of Masters, looking theatrically terrified, with Chase holding a (presumably fake) gun to her head. Another sign:

"Marry House or Masters Gets It."

Then another ding:

The (prettier) nurses, all dressed in sweatshirts emblazoned with a different letter: M-A-R-R-Y H-I-M.

Cuddy shook her head.

Her phone rang. It was Gary, down in the morgue.

"Can I borrow you for a few minutes, Dr. Cuddy?"

"Borrow me?"

"They have these new digital toe tags that I want to show you. They contain all the patient's medical records in a tiny chip on the tag. I think they'd save us a lot of time."

"Sounds expensive."

"Let me just show this one toe-tag. You might change your mind."

Cuddy sighed, but made her way down to the morgue.

When Gary saw her, his face lit up.

"I really think you're going to like this tag," he said, pulling out one of the cadavers.

Cuddy peered at the tag, which looked the same as all the others. And then she looked closer: "I'm Dying for You To Marry House," the tag read.

She snorted, looked up at Gary.

"There's no digital toe tag," she said.

"Not yet. But it _is_ a pretty good idea," Gary said.

"And how much did House pay you to arrange this little demonstration?"

"50 bucks,"

"You should've held out for a hundred," Cuddy said, and sashayed away.

#####

House and Wilson were heading to their table at the cafeteria when Wilson noticed his friend's tray.

"_Peas_? You're eating peas? I've never known you to eat a vegetable—or anything green for that matter—in your life."

"Peas have more than one use," House said. He stopped at a table, where Drs. Schwarz and O'Malley were having lunch.

"You're not going to eat these, are you?" he said, dumping O'Malley's peas into his own bowl, without waiting for an answer.

Then he passed a kid, sitting at a table with his parents.

"Kids hate peas," he said, grabbing the kid's bowl off his tray.

He stole two more bowls of peas before they finally sat down.

"What are you up to?" Wilson said, skeptically.

"You'll see," House said, beginning to work.

He began to arrange the peas on the table.

MARRY ME, PEAS he spelled out. Then he took a photo of it, emailed it to Cuddy.

He leaned back, proud of himself.

"That's your idea of a romantic proposal?" Wilson said, horrified.

"This is only one prong, in a 5-pronged proposal," House said.

"She's a woman, not a fork," Wilson said.

"You said to be creative."

"I said to be romantic."

"What could be more romantic than declaring my love WHILE eating healthy."

"You're not even eating those."

"True," House said, taking one of the peas and shooting it at Wilson through a straw.

Later that day, he poked his head in Cuddy's office.

"Did you get my messages?" he said, with a grin.

"I got em alright," she said, looking up from her inventory report. (Earlier she'd had to delete a line in the inventory—in red and all caps: SEXY NIGHTGOWNS FOR HONEYMOON WITH HOUSE. QUANTITY: 5)

"And. . ."

"You're adorable, House."

"That's not an answer."

"If I say no will you stop with the games?"

House gave her a hurt look.

"So that's your answer? _No?_"

"A relief, huh?" she said, and went back to her report.

####

At House's behest, Wilson went on a little fact finding mission.

"Why do you keep rejecting House's proposals?"

"Because they're not serious."

"He says they are."

"Then where's the ring?"

"He seems to think rings are too conventional for him. Or something like that."

"There's no ring because the proposals aren't real. It's just a game. He accidentally asked me to marry him after he had a really great orgasm and now he's trying to prove to me that he was serious."

"Maybe he _was_ serious."

"Come on, Wilson. We both know that House doesn't want to marry me."

"He told me he does."

"He'll come to his senses."  
#####

"So?"

Not two minutes after Wilson came back from Cuddy's office, House was standing in his doorway.

"What did she say?"

"She doesn't think your proposals are serious," Wilson said.

"Why not?"

"Because you—what?—put a fake toe tag on a corpse? Spelled out a proposal in peas? Why would she possibly think you weren't serious?"

House got a faraway look in his eyes.

"So you're saying that my proposals haven't been big enough," House said.

"Actually, that's not even close to what I said."

But House had stopped listening.

"I can work with that," he said.

#######

The next day, Cuddy was filling out a form for a grant when she thought she heard music. Mariachi music, to be precise, as though from a distance.

The music got louder and louder, until she could swear it was right outside her office.

She stepped into the hallway.

And there, right in the lobby, was a mariachi band—resplendent in red gaucho pants and giant sombreros—with none other than Gregory House, up in the balcony, conducting them.

When he saw that Cuddy had come out of her office, he gestured for the band to cut.

"Here she is," he announced to the crowd of patients, hospital staffers, and curious onlookers that had assembled.

"The woman of the hour, Dr. Lisa Cuddy."

"House, what are you up to?" Cuddy said. But she was afraid she already knew.

From the balcony, House got down on one knee.

"Lisa Cuddy, you're the Esmeralda to my Quasimodo, the Roxanne to my Cyrano, the Beauty to my Beast. But for some unknown reason, you can actually stand me. Therefore, in front of our colleagues, assorted strangers, and God himself"—"Whattup?" said Jesus, the lab tech—"I am asking you to be my bride."

"Awwwwww," the assembled crowd said.

Suddenly, all eyes were on Cuddy. She felt her face turn red. She hesitated.

"Say yes!" "Say yes!" the crowd chanted.

"Say yes! Say yes!" House chimed in.

She glared at House for a second, who was still on bended knee.

"That's enough, House!" she said.

And she stormed out of the lobby.

House watched her run away, in shock.

"Denied," Nurse Jeffrey said, under his breath.

#####

Several hours later, and once the hospital had calmed down from all the proposal buzz, Cuddy went to House's office.

His team was in the DDx room, but he wasn't there.

"Where is he?" Cuddy said.

"He took his marimbas and went home," Taub said, with a tiny smirk.

Cuddy looked at her watch.

"It's only 5 o clock."

"He left shortly after you turned down his proposal," Masters said.

"I didn't turn down his proposal," Cuddy said. "I refused to play his little game."

The team exchanged looks.

"He seemed pretty upset," Chase said.

Cuddy furrowed her brow.

"Really?"

"His actual quote was: Does anyone have any cyanide I can borrow?" Chase said. "He was joking. . .I think."

"He'll be fine," Cuddy said. But she suddenly wasn't so sure.

She went back to her office, packed up her stuff for the night and went home to talk to him.

But when she got there, House was nowhere to be found.

"Did Dr. House ever come home?" she said to Marina, the nanny.

"No, Dr. Cuddy," Marina said.

"Did he call?"

"No. . ."

"Huh. He said he was going home."

And suddenly it occurred to her: He had gone home. _His_ home.

She called him.

"Hey," she said, when he answered.

"Hey yourself."

"Are you in your apartment?"

"Where else would I be?"

"Our house," she sniffed.

"Your house," he responded.

"Come home," she said. "I'm sorry about before. You ambushed me. Startled me."

"Yes, I'm sure my seventh straight proposal must have come as quite a shock to you," he said.

"I'm sorry okay? Let's talk about it."

"I need a night off," he said quietly. "Just one night to absorb the disappointment of the fact that you have _absolutely no intention_ of ever marrying me."

"House, it's not like that—"

But he hung up.

She tried to sleep that night, but found that she couldn't get any rest without House in the bed. The bed felt empty, eerie, cold.

Finally, she called him again.

"I can't sleep," she said.

"That's too bad," he said.

"I need you in bed with me," she said. "We've slept in the same bed together for more than 365 days."

"You're forgetting the time after poker at Wilson's when you made me sleep on the couch," he countered.

"You were three hours late, reeking of cheap cigars, and you forgot to call!"

"And then there was the time we collapsed from exhaustion on your office floor after we had just—"

"I remember," Cuddy interrupted.

"So technically, we've spent at least two nights _not_ in that bed together."

"I miss you."

"Husbands sleep alongside their wives in bed every night. Boyfriends sometimes go home to their _own apartments_."

"House. . . were you really serious with that proposal?"

"I told you I was."

"But. . . I thought you were just doing that thing you do. Where you see me as a giant challenge—turn everything into a game."

"It's no game."

Cuddy sat up in bed, hugged her knees to her chest.

"You know, House, when you and I first began dating, everyone said to me: He'll run away. He'll get bored. He'll feel trapped. But I always knew you'd stay. I knew you loved me that much."

"Then why not marry me?" House said. It was close to a whine.

"Because we don't need to get married. I believe in your love. You don't need to prove anything to me. You don't need to feel trapped."

"Did it ever occur to you that you're the one person I _want_ to be trapped with?" House said.

After they hung up, Cuddy stared at the phone for a long time. Then she threw on a pair of jeans and heels and woke up her sleeping toddler.

"Wanna go on a special mission with mama?" she said.

Rachel rubbed her eyes.

"Okay," she said.

#####

House had secretly retreated to his own apartment several times over the course of the last year—sometimes to play the piano, sometimes to listen to HIS music (not that Phineas and Ferb crap Rachel made him listen to), sometimes just to clear his head.

But this was different. That was always by choice. And he always knew that Cuddy and Rachel would be waiting for him, with open arms, when he returned.

Now, his apartment felt eerie, lonely, cold.

He tossed and turned in bed, finally decided to get up and watch some television. That was when he heard it: The sound of a pebble being thrown against his living room window.

He looked outside.

Cuddy and Rachel were standing on the sidewalk. It had to be almost 1 am.

House opened the window.

"First of all, you don't need to throw pebbles at a _first floor_ window," he said. "Also, are you out of mind?"

"Can we come in?" Cuddy said.

House gave a slightly exasperated sigh, but cocked his head toward the front door.

He unlocked the door.

"You woke her up in the middle of the night for this?" he said to Cuddy, slightly ticked.

"Rachel has a very important question she needs to ask you," Cuddy said with a sneaky smile.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" House said, folding his arms, looking at Rachel.

Rachel blushed a bit, looked at Cuddy, who nodded encouragingly. Then she whispered something so softly and so quickly House couldn't make it out.

"What's that, shorty?" House said. "You gotta say it louder."

"Mama wants to know if you'll . . ." She looked back up at Cuddy.

"Mar-ry," Cuddy mouthed to her.

"If you'll marry her!" Rachel blurted out triumphantly.

House blinked.

He looked at Cuddy. Tried not to smile.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said. "It's not like I moved out permanently. I just needed to lick my wounds a bit."

"House, I want to marry you. I've always wanted to marry you. I just didn't know that you wanted to marry me."

"Of course I do," House said.

"Next time you pop the question, mix in a ring," Cuddy said. "Adds an aura of authenticity."

House scratched his head, squinted at her.

"Wait here," he said. He went to his bedroom. Came out with a small velvet box.

He opened it to reveal a perfect, halo-style diamond ring, set in platinum.

Cuddy's mouth dropped open.

"When did you. . .?"

"It was meant to be the big finish to my lobby proposal, before the whole thing ended in horror and regret and tears."

"Hey, I may've been upset but I did _not_ cry House."

"Not _your_ tears," House said.

She looked at the ring.

"It's stunning, House. It's perfect."

"It's sooooo shiny," Rachel said approvingly.

Cuddy couldn't help herself. Now she _was_ crying.

House got down on one knee.

"Lisa Cuddy, for the eighth—and hopefully last—time: Will you be my wife?"

"Yes!" Cuddy said.

He placed the ring on her finger.

Then they kissed for so long and so passionately that Rachel covered her eyes.

"There is one condition," Cuddy said, after they parted.

"What's that?"

"That you come home with me tonight and put this damn apartment on the market immediately."

"Only if we repaint the bedroom."

"I thought you liked the color of the bedroom!"  
"I don't even know what color that is. Taupe? Goldenrod? Whatever it is, it's an eyesore."

"I'll call a painter first thing tomorrow morning."

House raised his eyebrows.

"I thought I'd paint it myself. . .if you know what I mean."

THE END


End file.
